J LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 






j ^z^ . ,.£.o 



# 



I UNITED STATES OF AMERICA J- 



POEMS 



BY 



CLINT PARKHURST 



OF IOWA 




CHICAGO : A 
The Western News Company. 
1874. 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, by 

Clint Pabkhurst, 

in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 




TO 



Ctje Surbtbtng ^rtbate j&oUnera 



OF THE 



SEVENTEENTH ARMY CORPS, 

BY ONE WHO SHARED THEIR VICISSITUDES 
AND GLORIES. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE. 

The Barbarian . _ _ 13 

Pauline 19 

Lost on the Border 33 

A Campaign Incident _ 41 

There is no Good 44 

Flanking the Enemy 45 

Prayer — 48 

Fame to Genius 49 

Andersonville 50 

Creeds 52 

My Mother _._ 53 

July 5™, 1864. _ 54 

The Voiceless Past, 55 

montmorenci 56 

Beware ___ ___ ___ 58 

July 2 1 st, 1864 59 

Born to Misfortune __ 63 

montmorenci __ 64 

Jaded 65 

Halcyone 66 

Passion 67 

Ino - _ 68 

Temptation . _ _ 69 

Tom Paine _ _ . 70 

A Kansas Picture _ 71 

Opportunity 72 

Glendare _-_- 73 

"The Last Man" _ 74 

The Dreams of the Starving 75 



10 CONTENTS, 

ON THE WING. 

PACT. 

Mexico in Prospect 79 

France _ 81 

Clearing the Coast of Texas 83 

In Cuban Waters 87 

On the Western Ocean 89 

St. George's Channel on a Clear Day 91 

Byron's Tomb _. 93 

The Voice of the Winds 95 

Napoleon in Obscurity 97 

At the Altar __ 100 

POEMS OF CAMP AND FIELD. 

Off to the Wars i 105 

A Casual Reflection _ . _ . 106 

In Line of Battle 107 

Corinth 1 109 

Ho ! for Vicksburg no 

Once more to the Camps 112 

Fortitude 113 

War 114 

YOUTHFUL POEMS. 

On the Kansas Plains 119 

The Lost Genius 123 

On a Friend's Marriage 128 

Lines _ 130 

All is Vanity __ _._ 132 

At Niagara 133 

Fate 134 

Undine __ __ 135 

PROSE. 

Stormy Times on the Verdigree 141 

Brevities __ 154 



THE BARBARIAN. 



"Money, money, money makes the man." — Pindar. 



T 1L 7 HERE e'er he turned he found deceit 

^ * Concealed in smiles to soon betray, 
And Shame he found in Honor's seat, 
And Vice in Virtue's chaste array. 
He found Religion but a veil 
To screen the vile from honest scorn, — 
A giant Fraud, from Terror born, 
To plunder on colossal scale, 
And sway the herd like serfs forlorn. 
He found that Falsehood reigned supreme ; 
That Justice was a poet's dream 
That faded fast to empty air 

13 



14 THE BARBARIAN. 

Beneath Corruption's gorgon glare ; 

And where Integrity should wait, 

Rank thieves he found installed in state. 

He could not bow at Power's call, 

Or kneel where Manhood bid him stand; 

He could not cringe, and delve, and crawl 

For senseless gold from Favor's hand, 

And yet he found that swollen Wealth 

Could win what Genius could not gain ; 

That bays were snatched by coward Stealth, 

Where manly Force would strive in vain ; 

He saw Pretension seize the place 

That sterling Merit scarce could hold, 

And saw the world join in a chase — 

A frantic chase — for only gold. 

And gold, he saw, ruled over all, 

Bought men as dealers buy their slaves, 

Prepared the way for Beauty's fall, 

Or cheated prisons of their knaves ; 

Atoned for any crime or blot, 

Made right whatever once was wrong, 

Set Law and Decency at naught, 

And made the hoary lecher strong. 



THE BARBARIAN. 



15 



And Society, he fiercely found, 
Set everywhere its hated bound 
To beat him back ; there was no round 
That he might tread that did not lead 
To insult, slander, hate, and greed. 
That he was base they could not plead ; 
That he had robbed, or that his creed 
Conflicted with the Law's command; 
That he had raised a lustful hand 
At Innocence in hour of need, 
Or that Weakness had within his snare 
Been stricken down to perish there, . 
And he had mocked to see it biped — 
That he had wrought some murder grim 
They could not say these things of him. 
His crime was worse a thousand fold — 
He had no hoarded heaps of gold. 
His vengeful soul in rage rebelled, 
And bitter as a cynic grey, 
He cursed a world that only held 
Such hypocrites and beasts of pi:ev. 



16 THE BARBARIAN. 

II. 

The deep woods heard his axe's stroke, 
His own strong arms laid low the oak, 
He shaped his logs, he cleared the spot, 
He reared alone his ample cot, 
He broke the sod, with easy speed 
He scattered wide the yellow seed, 
He covered well — his task was done, 
He left the rest to rain and sun, 
For farther toil there was no need. 

He was no serf his strength to waste 
From morning red to evening chaste, 
Subservient to Wealth's decree. 
There was no king more truly free, 
More safe from tyranny than he. 
Where was the wretch dare bid him rise 
Ere dawn had tinged the eastern skies, 
To drudge in pain that knaves might feast, 
Might have their pageantry increased, 
Might bask in dissipation's blaze 
Through noisy nights and idle days, 



THE BARBARIAN. 



17 



And flaunt their robes from hall to den 
Before the eyes of better men? 
Where were the lips that dared command, 
Or dared, with insolence of speech, 
Oppression's sophistry to preach 
Within the aisles so broad and grand 
That girt his home with boundless reach, 
Green canopied by God's own hand? 
Ah ! none were there — the land, the air, 
The woods, the game, were Heaven's care ; 
The teeming fruits, the waters clear, 
That shone and glistened far and near, 
Were free for him to take or spare. 
The blue smoke curled above his roof, 
His lounging dogs kept vigils true, 
The savage beasts prowled far aloof, 
Or frightened fled his wild haloo. 
The flowers bloomed for him to view, 
The grasses sprung to bear his tread, 
And catch the freshness of the dew ; 
The birds that chorused sweet o'erhead 
His very step and presence knew. 
He was a king, his realm was fair, 

2 



18 THE BARBARIAN. 

He feared no plots of baffled foes, 
His crown contained no thorn of care, 
His throne was pleasure &nd repose. 



PAULINE. 



• l The world treats me like a Pariah," said Beethoven gloomily. 



X/OU seem so sad when half alone. 

*■ When you do not deem me nigh, 
You bow your weary head and sigh, 
As though some shadow you deny 
Across your path were thrown. 
You have some grief you will not own. 
Your red lips speak in joyous tone, 
Yet in your very smile I see 
Some evil things that should not be — 
Some subtle signs you seek to hide — 
The haughtiness of wounded pride, 
And bitterness with pain allied. 
Sometimes the slightest things you say, 
Seem darkened by some mystic doom. 

19 



20 PA UL1NE. 

Sometimes your lightest words convey 
A nameless sense of weighty gloom 
That jesting will not drive away ; 
And ever when your wit 's in play, 
You well nigh mar your morning bloom. 
Such keen, sarcastic things you say. 

You need not speak — you cannot screen 

What duller eyes than mine have seen ; 

Too palpable to any gaze 

The deadly bane of your young days. 

God gave to you a matchless frame, 

Symmetric as the poets claim 

Fair Venus had when earth was new ; 

He gave to you such glorious eyes, 

I first beheld them with surprise. 

And wondered if some wayward queen 

Arrayed in this your vesture mean, 

Did not wander in disguise. 

A thousand charms he gave to you 

As lavish as the falling dew, 

With passions strong, and ruddy health, 

And pride that scarcely bends by stealth, 



PA ULINE. 21 

And grandly beautified the whole 
By moulding faultlessly thy soul, 
Yet did not crown his gifts with wealth. 

Think you he blessed you by such grace ? 
In all his givings can you trace 
The semblance of a motive kind ? 
Cast away your teachings blind, 
And question with undaunted mind. 
Fair as the stars of Fashion's sphere, 
Lo ! you sit unhonored here. 
Who comes to pay you homage chaste, 
Pleading for smiles with eager haste, 
Hour by hour the tale to repeat 
Of life-long love's delusions sweet — 
Strewing his wealth around your feet, 
Counting as naught its royal waste 
So you bid him no more entreat, 
Smile assent to his ardent claim, 
Yield your beauties to be embraced, 
And your hand for his gems aflame, 
And haughtily wear his name ? 



22 PA ULINE. 

None come ; but when you idly dream 

Beside your lattice, too wrapt to seem 

Observant of the throngs you view, 

Vile lechers fix their gaze on you, 

As they lounge past, fresh from their lairs, 

And ponder on what common snares 

May best suffice to work your ill. 

They leer upon you, foul with lust, 

Until their red eyes feast their fill, 

And gorge you with disgust. 

You cannot move for lurking foes ; 

The dreary shadow of repose 

That Fate yet leaves you they would slay. 

They weave their toils around your way 

As hunters cast their nets for prey. 

Their smiles are false, their words are lies, 

The honeyed things they sometimes say 

Are Hell's suggestions in disguise ; 

There are no fiends more base than they — 

Your abject ruin is their prize. 

Such is the fruit your beauty bears ; 

It girds you round about with snares. 



PA ULINE. 23 

Not so does Fortune deal with all. 
Others to sumptuous homes are born ; 
On pleasant paths their footsteps fall 
From the first flush of childhood's morn 
Till the autumn of their stormless days 
Fades out like sunset's dying blaze. 
Life to them is all in all. 
Affection girds them like a wall, 
And ready at their languid call 
Are all the joys that mortals win 
From love, and luxury, and sin. 
They have a surfeit of the bliss 
For which you starve — what they reject, 
If yours, e'en in a den like this, 
Would make your glowing eyes reflect 
So deep a joy from out your soul 
That I might read them like a scroll, 
And tell you, ere you spake a word, 
That not in vain had been deferred 
Your thousand hopes — that not in vain 
Had Vice's baubles been forsworn, 
Or poverty and secret pain 
With iron fortitude been borne. 



24 PA ULINE. 

Yet such, alas ! is not to be. 
Vex not your soul with airy schemes — 
In vain you build your gorgeous dreams - 
You cannot alter Fate's decree. 

A man can rise, if born obscure — 

Can summon courage to endure 

The world's rebuffs, and wrench the heel 

Of Poverty from off his neck — 

Can rear his fortunes from the wreck 

Of others' hopes, and fiercely feel 

A thrill of vengeance in their woe, 

And in the stern strife a lofty glow 

Of exultation and of pride 

That hurls Adversity aside, 

And conquers, step by step, a way 

Through adverse Fortune's thick array 

Of bitter woes, to all he craves 

That Gold confers or Honor yields. 

His very anguish swiftly paves 

The rugged way to grandest fields, 

Lending a vigor to his blows 

That only desperation knows. 



PA ULINE. 25 

All before him are his foes. 

With haughty rage he scorns repose, 

And strikes as though his fierce strokes fell, 

Not alone to reach his goal, 

But for the very jewel of his soul — 

For life itself — for if he fail, 

Not heartless crowds will hear his wail ; 

The grave will close his gloomy tale, 

And desert winds will sing his knell — 

He will perish or prevail. 

Thus nerved, he wrests away his prize. 

But woman born to station low, 

Though fair as Juno, and as wise 

As Pallas chaste, can never rise. 

Her dreary option lies 

Between the hovel and the hell. 

You were not moulded to delight 
Some craven beast of loud command 
And sudden rage, whose brutal hand 
Would be more often raised to smite 
Than stretched in toil for thine and thee ; 
Whose reeking home would only be 



26 PA ULINE. 

A prison loathed, where toil and tears 
Would wear away the dragging years, 
And sickness, misery and pain, 
And pinching want alone would reign. 
You would not wish with pangs to bear 
Fair children from his loathed embrace, 
To see them pine and wither there, 
Or thrive in discord and disgrace, 

Foredoomed in after years to rot 

» 

In brothel beds and prison cells. 
Abhor indeed your present lot, 
But even Hell has deeper hells. 
Far better should you perish now, 
Fall ere another sun shall rise, 
With beauty throned upon your brow, 
And Heaven's light within your eyes, 
And warm within your purple veins 
The blood of youth, and on your cheek 
The florid freshness of the rose, 
Than wear accursed the galling chains 
That love and poverty impose. 
Say rather lust — ah ! do not speak 
To me of love — there is no kind 



PA ULINE. 27 

That ghastly selfishness can find 
No portal wide to enter in ; 
There is no kind unstained by sin, 
Unmantled by a garb of shame, 
Or worthy of the price or name. 

Yet deem not Vice, so fair to view, 

The maze of joy it seems to you. 

Would you know the harlot's round ? 

She treads on burning ground. 

Gaunt Horror beards her face to face, 

Before her yawns a gulf of wrath, 

Behind, a desolated path 

Her feet can never more retrace. 

Not one pure joy remains her own. 

Diseased, degraded, and defiled, 

She moves through all the world alone, 

Abhorred, detested, and reviled. 

Her game is death — she slays for bread. 

The beauty God first formed her in 

Tempts madly to her cursed bed, 

Bewildered with the sweets of sin, 

The loved, the fair, the strong, the bold — 



28 PA ULINE. 

She clasps them in her deadly fold, 

And while her serpent lips reply 

To kisses hot, and while she twines 

Her velvet arms, like poisoned vines, 

Around their frames, drowned in delights, 

They feel not when her venom smites. 

With secret smile she hears them sigh, 

She sends them forth — anon to die. 

This is her trade — it is to kill ; 

She cannot change it if she will. 

She was not spared, why should she spare ? 

Who taught to her Pollution's snare ? 

Let none declare 

The canting tale of Pity's lie. 

Let censure sleep. 

Does God restrain the wrathful gales 

Because a shattered vessel sails 

Upon the deep ? 

Does he withhold the wasteful rain, 

At day's high noon, 

Because the fields with leveled grain 

Are thickly strewn? 

Turns he away the lava tide, 



PA ULINE. 29 

That hisses down the mountain side, 
Because a city blocks its course ? 
When he unchains the whirlwind's force, 
Cares he what ills to us betide ? 
When such as he deign not to spare, 
Why should a ruined wretch forbear ? 

You start — I thought you scarce could know 

The ample fullness of your woe. 

These things, to you, are deeply strange, 

Their drift you do not comprehend ; 

I see your cheek's soft color change, 

And its pink and crimson blend 

With ashy white ; it seems to burn, 

E'en when most pale, with a vague heat 

As though your pulse with fever beat. 

Much yet, fair girl, have you to learn. 

Of you I dreamed — half drunk you reeled 
At night along the crowded pave ; 
The glare of myriad lights revealed 
Your haggard lineaments, and gave 
Their ghastly outlines such a mien 



30 PA ULINE. 

Of hideous woe, I thought the grave 

Might well have snatched you from the scene 

As one rebelling from Death's sleep. 

Your swollen eyes refused to weep, 

And yet your bitter soul o'erflowed 

With galling griefs ; doomed to reap 

The baleful harvest you had sowed, 

You staggered on. Men passed you by 

With mocking jests or laughter rude ; 

The pure shunned you ; every eye, 

With touch of pity unsubdued, 

Stared heartless insolence and scorn. 

Crushed, abashed, maddened, spurned, forlorn, 

The loathsome wreck of former days, 

You stole from out the street's red blaze 

And crouched where deepest night had fled, 

Shamed e'en when shame itself was dead. 

Ah, sweet Pauline, you cannot guess 
The horrors of a woman's fall. 
There is no language can express 
The anguish and wild wretchedness 
That ceaselessly her soul appall. 



PA ULINE. 

Her revel bowl is brimmed with gall 
It cannot quench her deep despair. 
The roses twined amid her hair 
The odors of the grave exhale ; 
The hollow mirth she seems to share 
But mocks her spirit's inward wail, 
And spectres stalk amidst the air 
While loud her merriments prevail. 



31 



What wild, lone path to you remains, 

Where neither Penury enchains 

With fetters cold, nor Shame's hot bre- fch 

Scathes the broad road that winds to < eath ? 

Rise on your nature, fierce to rend, 

Bid every tender instinct bend 

To god-like Reason's iron sway ; 

Bid every warm impulse be bred 

To cold distrust or hate instead. 

Brand Friendship but a lying snare ; 

Crush Love and Pity ere they bear 

Their sweet but unavailing fruit. 

For foes and treachery prepare. 

In Man behold a lustful brute 



32 PAULINE. 

Whose fading spark of fire divine 
Through clogging passion scarce can shine ; 
Know earth a ruthless battle-ground 
Where Might and Wrong are ever found 
Allied against the crushed and weak ; 
Henceforward let your fair lips speak 
But cold, calm words, nor deign to seek 
That sympathy your sex e'er craves, 
Which won, transforms them all to slaves ; 
Dream not of peace, hope not to gain 
A single joy for all your pain ; 
Undaunted by the baser crowd, 
Untainted by Corruption's gold, 
Unloving and unloved, stern, proud, 
Chaste, indomitable and bold, 
Selfish, untempted and unsold, 
Impervious pursue your way. 



LOST ON THE BORDER. 

i. 

T^AR down the woods the black night fell, 

A The restless lightnings blazed and flashed, 

And strewed the skies with hues of Hell, 

Or through the moaning forest crashed, 

Scathing their way through tangled shades, 

Cleaving the oaks like lindens frail, 

Rebounding from their burning raids 

And dying on the roaring gale. 

The angry thunders surged and rolled 

Like volleys from contending gods, 

The rains swept down in torrents cold 

And bowed the trees like trembling rods. 

The scared deer hid in dripping dells, 

The panther ceased his hungry yells 

And slunk within his jungled lair; 

The wolves fled frantic in the glare 

3a 



34 LOST ON THE BORDER. 

That smote the earth and deluged air, 
And all fierce things ignored their prey 
Since chaos seemed resuming sway. 



IT. 



Her throat was spanned with chains of gold 

Rich jewels flashed in brilliance cold 

Upon her hands of faultless shape ; 

Her limbs were of exquisite mould, 

Nor could their symmetry escape 

His searching and excited gaze, 

For, as she lolled within the blaze, 

In free and tempting attitude, 

Her garments drenched clung close around 

A figure where Perfection found 

Itself in mortal flesh renewed. 

Disheveled o'er her snowy breast, 

Or round her shoulders' perfect lines, 

Like thunder clouds along the west 

When low the sun in setting shines, 

Her dense black locks in masses streamed, 



LOST ON THE BORDER. 35 

Wet with the strong tornado's breath. 

Thick hedging in a face that beamed 

With light and love, as saints have dreamed 

The pure shall have when freed by death — 

A sweet, refined, expressive face, 

And yet whereon the eye could trace 

Some signs of passion, slumb'ring still 

In dormant strength, yet quick to rise 

If tempted by a firm set will 

Veiled in persuasion's silken guise. 

Short was her tale — far in the East, 

Beyond the woods and prairies free, 

Where rock-reared bluffs in grandeur flank 

The southward rolling inland sea — 

Where fleets float on the billows blue, 

And winds are fair and isles are few, 

And sunbeams fall on clouds of steam, 

Or flash and glance from dripping oars ; 

Where Commerce crowns the boundless stream, 

And cities line the rival shores, 

And vineyards spread with vigor rank 

O'er lands that groan with wealth increased, 

And Labor's bustle, roar, and clank 



36 LOST ON THE BORDER. 

Proclaim that all, from great to least, 
Must strongly toil with brain or hand, 
Obedient to God's command, 
And toiling thus may win and feast — 
('T is thus that presbyter and priest 
Would have their vassals understand 
Why some are blessed and others banned.) 
There was her home ; in halls of pride, 
That looked afar o'er hill and tide, 
Without a wish ungratified, 
The queen of Fortune's petted throng 
She dwelt, her life a joyous maze 
Of bright and unembittered days, 
All intertwined with smiles and song. 
At length the woods and breezy plain, 
In contrast with her realm of ease, 
Seemed like the green and glad domain 
Some heart-sick royal captive sees, 
Sad gazing through his prison screens 
While 'vironed round with choicest scenes. 
Her wayward fancy prone to please, 
With gallant guard and ample train 
She crossed the prairies wide as seas. 



LOST ON THE BORDER. 



37 



III. 



Apart the stalwart hermit stood 
With folded arms in evil mood. 



The maid reclined, absorbed in thought, 

Unconscious that her beauty wrought 

Within his brain a maddened spell, 

And that his gaze upon her fell 

As merciless as fabled Hell, 

Feeding the source from whence it came, 

Feasting, like the treacherous flame 

Upon the pyre that gives it life, 

Heartless, insensate, lustful, rife 

With the mad thoughts that tameless rise 

From the breast of youth, veiled in sighs 

And panoplied in hues of love. 

As the serpent glares on the dove 

That cannot fly its poisoned fangs, 

And yet forbears to strike, and hangs 

Above its prey, content to know 

It cannot 'scape the deadly blow, 

So stood he there, his passions blind, 

Holding his soul in abject thrall. 

3b 



38 



LOST ON THE BORDER. 



Mind oft can converse hold with mind 
Though not a word from lips may fall ; 
To speak, not language may require, 
But eyes can flash magnetic fire — 
Can blaze with purpose and desire, 
Transmitting shafts of viewless might 
That shock the dormant brain they smite, 
And rouse it up, as hosts at night 
Spring from the field of doubtful fight, 
When loud alarms the bugles call, 
And bolts of vengeance hissing fall. 



She started like the hunted deer 

When swift the baying hounds advance ; 

She trembled with a nameless fear, 

And turning met his savage glance ; 

She saw his lineaments express 

The vilest of vile selfishness, 

Incarnate lust, and brutal greed 

To which 't were vain to kneel and plead, 

And, nerved by some strange strength she rose, 

As dying heroes face their foes, 

And stood erect — a perfect queen — 



LOST ON THE BORDER. 

Unbounded was her passion's reach. 

And with Zenobia's tragic mien 

She coined her proud contempt in speech 



39 



He heard her not — he only saw 
A grandeur in her stormy eyes 
That touched his guilty soul with awe 
Too deep for lewdness to despise — 
A purity that seemed sublime, 
More eloquent to banish crime 
Than great Jehovah's sternest law, 
Or Man's most pitiless decree. 
O, more magnificent her rage 
Than richest canvas could reflect ! 
So warm with youth, as wise as age, 
And bitter as o'er weening pride 
With sense of deepest wrong allied, 
Or burning hatred could direct. 
Unused to polished beauty's wiles 
Such anger moved him more than smiles 
Such chaste and fearless dignity 
Possessed more power to stay his lust 
Than had she bended to the dust. 



40 LOST ON THE BORDER. 

From such as she no servile prayer 

Was needed to escape his snare ; 

Her scathing words were swifter far 

To reach his heart than strong appeal ; 

They played like brightly burnished steel 

Blazing rancor could not mar 

Their fine effect, nor force him feel 

One vengeful impulse in return. 

By nature hot, by training stern, 

Implacable, quick to resent, 

Too proud to pity or repent, 

The very courage of her will, 

The very fervor of her ire, 

Dazzled and disarmed him still, 

And bid him honor and admire. 



A CAMPAiaN INCIDENT. 



\\ 7ITHIN the bloody trench he lay, 



vv 



The fairest one of slaughter's prey , 



His eyes were fixed with stony stare, 
And yet his face spoke not of pain; 
But high resolve was mirrored there, 
As though the doubtful field to gain 
Were worth the piles of reeking slain 
That smoked beneath the torrid air. 
To see if life could still remain, 
A sergeant, grim with powder stain, 
A rude, rough fellow, quick to dare, 
Yet kind of heart as women are, 
In tenderness knelt by his side, 
And lifted back his dabbled hair, 
And tore his bloody dress aside, 
When lo ! a maiden's breast was there. 

4 



42 A CAMPAIGN INCIDENT. 

A pitying oath the sergeant swore, 
Then slowly rose in blank amaze ; 
Strange wierd things we had seen before, 
'Mid shifting scenes of stormy days. 
We had seen hostile cities blaze ; 
We had seen the elements blend 
Their wrath with Man's, and Heaven send 
Its lightnings down to quiet ours ; 
We had seen Nature's dreadest powers 
In every form and every phase ; 
Ity the soft light of summer moons, 
Louisiana's still lagoons 
Had borne us far to realms where well 
You might have deemed some wizard's spell 
Had bid the low, green shores expand 
To vistas of some fairy land ; 
On Tennessee's rich hills of fruit, 
Along the Tallahatchie's tide, 
Where amber Yazoo's floods are mute, 
Or Gaudalope and Brazos glide, 
Where Vicksburg towered in her pride, 
Disputing for an empire's sway, 
, Much had we seen no future day 



A CAMPAIGN INCIDENT. 43 

Will far eclipse ; much to appall, 

To startle, rapture, or dismay,— 

But this strange sight surpassed them all. 

The drums beat, and there was no time 
For lamentations o'er the dead — 
The troops were gathering to climb 
A wooded height, whereon ? t was said 
The foe had rallied for a stand ; 
And so, upon that gory crest, 
We made a grave where she might rest, 
And laid her down with tender hand. 
Her woes unknown, unknown her name, 
She sleeps upon her field of fame ; 
No storied page her deeds shall tell, 
Yet calm she sleeps, and all is well. 



THERE IS NO GOOD. 

"C" ARTH seems a Hell. 

^-^ Life came unasked, 

And so comes woe. 

It thickens on us. 

It is our heritage. 

Goaded by desires 

Implanted in us, 

We have no means 

To stay them. 

We bend and strive and strain, 

And all is naught. 

I denounce existing things. 

There is no guiding hand. 

A gale is forth, 

Ominous to Man, 

Scattering wide disaster. 

A whirl of ruin 

Roars around us, 

And there is no haven. 

44 



FLANKINGL THE ENEMY. 



\\ J HERE Kenesaw its lofty crest 

* ^ Reared threat'ning 'neath a tropic sky, 
Long had our legions hotly pressed 
To fiercely strive and proudly die. 
From peak to peak and height to height 
The gleam of bayonets met the sight ; 
On barren ridge and hills of stone 
The brazen-throated cannons shone, 
And tents were white in vales between 
Half hid by summer's robes of green, 
And silent squares of daring men 
Were gathered in each leafy glen, 
And parapets and walls of clay 
Far o'er the mountains stretched their way ; 
And fortress dark, on every side, 
To fortress dark in rage replied ; 
And musketry in volleys broke 

• 45 



46 FLANKING THE ENEMY, 

From leaguered lines, through woods of oak, 
And where the peaks were lost in blue, 
Kebellion's haughty standards flew. 

The sun went down in blazing ire, 

His glory mingled with our fire ; 

His gorgeous streams of golden light 

Poured flood-like through the roaring fight, 

And all the stars our banners bore 

Gleamed like Montana's yellow ore. 

No moon was forth when night was come, 

No longer rolled the warning drum ; 

No rifle cracked from vale or hill, 

The rumbling guns grew strangely still, 

And weaiy with the day gone by, 

Each soldier placed his weapons nigh, 

And laid him down to dream or die. 

Late was the hour swift riders bore 
Strange tidings through those forests hoar. 
With cautionings of watchful foes, 
Our chieftains roused us from repose. 
No trump was blown, no signal made, 



FLANKING THE ENEMY. 47 

But like a host become afraid, 

For leagues and leagues the still lines poured 

Back from their works, as surges creep 

Back to the fountains of the deep 

When baffled by the firm sea-board ; 

And then, as rent, conflicting tides, 

Sore fretted by the wailing blast, 

Resolve into a current vast 

That cannot scale the cliff's tall sides, 

Yet round its base resistless glides, 

So formed we there and westward swept 

While still the foe unthinking slept. 

Long was the night, and silence dread — 
So strangely deep it seemed the dead 
Must rouse beneath our martial tread — 
Far as the horrid darkness spread, 
Intensely reigned; some muttered word 
Anon amid the gloom was heard, 
Some charger's neigh, some clank of steel, 
The noise of some half muffled wheel, 
Some wild bird's scream, as if in fright — 
And these alone disturbed the night. 



48 PRA YER. 

With balmy winds and azure skies, 

Morn came in Triumph's splendid guise ; 

Upon the foe's far flank we bore 

In war's proud pomp, with music's roar, 

And columns massed, and seas of steel, 

And musketry's terrific peal, 

And crash of shell, and cannon glare, 

And thund'ring cheers that rolled away 

As though the nations, thronging there, 

In fury marshalled for affray. 

The startled foe, amazed, undone, 
Recoiled before our storm of might ; 
And ere the stars of early night, 
Our banners streamed from hill and height, 
And Kenesaw was won. 



PRAYER. 

ALL is written 
That will transpire, 
A sea of tears 
Sets not aside 
One lone event. 



fame to aumus. 

A RISE, with pride of many kings, 
^^ And face the world's presumptuous gaze, 
Wrest away thy regal bays, 
Wear them in the noontide blaze 
As from the Heavens handed down — 
Earth contains no grander crown ; 
The brightest of terrestrial things 

Must pale before their gorgeous rays 
As stars before the sun go down. 
4 49 



ANDERS ONVILLE* 

r I ^HEY were men no more ! 

^ Brutalized by Hunger's gnawing fangs, 
They swarmed upon the foul earth like vermin, 
Or sunk upon their slimy beds and died, 
And rotted where they fell — corruption bred 
A pestilence, and to escape it, 
Some burrowed in the earth like beasts, 
And by the treacherous sands were buried. 
Diseases of all strangest forms prevailed, 
Nor art nor surgery was there to bar 
Their gorgon growth ; all subtle taints that lurk 
Within the richest and the purest blood, 
Were fanned to intense and vengeful being, 
And devoured the lean and livid flesh. 



* I was a prisoner of war at Andersonville, Camp Lawton, Savannah, 
and Blackshire, in Georgia ; Florence, in South Carolina ; and Wilming- 
ton and Goldsboro, in North Carolina. 

50 



ANDERSONVILLE. ' 51 

The seeds of awful scrofulas were nursed 

To virulent life ; cancers, and all plagues 

That rankly fester in decaying flesh, 

Raged unchecked ; whole limbs became discolored, 

And swollen to the point of bursting ; 

Teeth dropped out, and eyes from their sockets ran; 

Through cheeks and throats great ulcers eat their 

way, 
And as the stricken ones unheeded moaned, 
Panting beneath a most merciless sun, 
The vile worms crawled up from the teeming 

ground, 
And fed on them, not waiting for death. 

Clear and shrill within the echoing wood 

Pealed the hunter's horn, and the blood-hound's 

bay 
Reached the far fugitive's ear, ominous 
And terrible, blanching his haggard cheek, 
Wreathing with deadly pallor his sad lips, 
Freezing the coursing blood within his veins. 
Fiercely upon his trail the hellish dogs 
Unerring sped, shrieking for their human prey. 



52 CREEDS. 

Lo ! when he fainting fell, with dripping jaws 
They tore God's image from his parted bones. 

All were malevolent and pitiless — 

Their hearts were changed to stone, and in their 

breasts 
Human feelings were quite extinguished. 
They gloated on each other's misery ; 
And when the .delirious spake of home, 
They laughed horribly, and jested of the grave, 
And with oaths and sarcastic mockery 
Tortured and taunted the dying, as though 
Death were the mere incident of an hour. 

Arch-fiends from deepest regions of the damned, 

Exultant might have stood amid it all, 

And deemed themselves in Hades' drearest shades. 



A 



CREEDS. 

LL human vagaries deceive ; 
The best of creeds is — disbelieve, 



MY MOTHER. 

" T GNORE the common goal," she said, 
-^ " Leave fools to gather rubbish vile, 
Lift thou thine eyes to heights o'er head, 

And seek to bask in Glory's smile. 
The sluggard perishes in shame, 

The Shylock's pomps with him expire, 
The hero leaves a deathless name 

For countless ages to admire. 
Strong be thy will — as iron strong, 

To cleave a path to grand renown, 
And, peerless in the fields of song, 

To millions shall thy name go down. 
The years but drift to Death's dark shore 

Let proud ambitions sway thy mind — 
So live, that when thy race is o'er, 

Resplendent trails shall glow behind." 

53 



JULY FIFTH, 1864. 



A BOVE our heads, across the vale, 
^ ^ Our batteries, with screaming hail, 
Dashed the opposing works away 
As tempests toss the ocean spray, 
And yet our chieftain's ringing call 
Was heard distinct above it all. 



'Mid sharp commands and hot replies, 
I faintly heard a score of cries, 
And then, in wild disorder still, 
Our curving lines surged up the hill, 
A gleaming mass of fearless men. 

The moments sped like dizzy dreams. 
Amid a tumult of alarms, 
The flash of steel, the roar of arms, 
Explosions, curses, groans and screams, 

54 



THE VOICELESS PAST. 55 

The rush, of crowds, the fall of men 
That ruthlessly were trampled then, 
The sight of blood, the glare of fire, 
All mingled in confusion dire, 
And scarcely knowing which had lost, 
In wrath the battlements we crossed. 



THE VOICELESS PAST. 

r I ^00 much ye sound your age's worth, 

** Not now the arts are having birth. 
Civilization is old as earth. 



MONTMORENCL 



T^ YES soft and sensuous ; 
* — * Languishing for love ; 
With bounteous passion full 
And half o'erflowing ; 
Lust scarce concealed 
Within their lustrous shades ; 
From their liquid depths 
Suggesting forbidden things ; 
Tempting with bewitching grace ; 
Prisoning lascivious thoughts 
That issue to the light 
As sun rays traverse the air, 
Viewless, silent, yet subduing ; 
Bidding passion kindle, 
And promising consent ; 
Potent as the sighing winds are, 

66 



MONTMORENCL 57 

And the odors of flowers, 
When they soothe us from toil ; 
Melting with dreamy languor ; 
Passive, yet with a spell 
That leaves no choice ; 
Seeming to slumber, yet awake 
And strong in demands ; 
Steeped in tenderness, 
Oppressed with desire, 
Beseeching for love 
And the meed of love — 
Sweet voluptuary, 
Who could resist their magic ? 

II. 

From their inner zones 
A soul looks forth ; 
It feeds on joy ; 
It laughs with fullness ; 
It revels in sense. 
Yet must it perish. 
The flowers in hue 
Are fair and matchless. 



58 BEWARE. 

A master's hand 

Cannot depict them. 

Yet the winds come 

And they perish. 

So perishes the soul 

And passes from being. 

So fair a thing as thou 

Must be no more. 

Adore thy shrine of sense, 

And live thy summer day — 

Once sped, it comes no more 



BEWARE. 

WHO to her lover yields her charms 
Ere wedlock crowns his warm request, 

Will leave her husband's drowsy arms 

To fold the stranger to her breast. 



JULY TWENTY- FIRST, 1864. 



W 



E fought that not a slave should be 
From Polar snows to tropic sea. 



With all the pageantry and pride 

That ever Terror's front defied 

Since Satan dared a God to scorn, 

We marched up through the shining corn, 

Led on by chiefs of iron mould, 
One impulse wild our hearts controlled — 
One impulse wild, in wrath condign 
To break the foe's unconquered line. 

No thoughts of home deterred us then, 
No thoughts of love from maids or men, 
No fear of pain, no secret dread 
Lest Night its mantle dusk should spread 
O'er vanquished lines and slaughter red; 

59 



60 JULY TWENTY-FIRST, 1864. 

But like a scourge for vengeance sent, 
Lost in our pomp and fierce intent, 
And proud to be the hope forlorn, 
We marched up through the shining corn. 

There was a flash — a blinding light 
Streamed down the crest from left to right 
Like lightnings flung from folds of night, 
And swift a crash of dread import 
Rolled up from bastion, trench, and fort ; 
The cannons dark vehement spoke, 
Destruction from its sleep awoke, 
And canopied amid the smoke, 
Its ghastly wings exulting spread. 
Sulphurous clouds in volumes dense 
Swayed slowly o'er the strife intense, 
And leaden hail with vengeful speed 
Smote down the ranks that dared to lead. 
And while we faced the storm of death, 
And struggled on with bated breath, 
Resolved to win, and yet dismayed, 
Confused, appalled, yet scarcely stayed, 
The cruel cheers of taunting foes 



JULY TWENTY-FIRST, 1864. 61 

From out their shielding works arose. 
I could not tell, for dust and smoke, 
Just where our column soonest broke, 
But backward hurled in rout complete, 
In shameful plight it wildly fled, 
And flags ne'er borne in base retreat, 
Were furled above our gallant dead. 
There was no stop, there was no stay, 
In massacre had closed the fray, 
And frantic haste and mad dismay 
Impelled us down the trampled slope 
Where late we charged with dauntless hope, 
As though a world would fail to cope 
With us in all our stern array. 
Ah ! saddest sight of any day. 

A tiny stream stole down the vale 
Where first our storming column massed, 
Upon whose breast the lilies pale 
Were once in beauty purely glassed, 
But we had soiled it as we passed — 
Had marred its outlines with our tread — 
And here and there a tint of red 



62 



JULY TWENTY-FIRST, 1864. 



Came floating down its troubled tide, 

Presaging that some wretch had died 

By shrieking missile surely sped. 

Along its margin halted all. 

Some stopped to quaff, and some to fall, 

And some to breathe, and some to call 

For friends they feared to meet no more ; 

And some because of anguish sore 

From wounds they scarcely knew they bore 

And all, because the sheltered spot 

Secured them from the plunging shot. 

Anon the thunders died away, 

The smoke dissolved in genial day ; 

The victors' hoarse, incessant cheers, 

In painful clamor reached our ears ; 

And then the air became so still, 

You might have heard that tiny rill 

Go stealing o'er its sandy bed, 

Had not the dying moaned instead. 



BORN TO MISFORTUNE. 

i. 

A FAIR -HAIRED child was left to bear 
^ The burden of her mother's wrong ; 
To feel how well the world can spare 
When boldly bearded by the strong, 
And yet how soon it learns to speak 
When Virtue bids it crush the weak. 

n. 

Her lover fled when vengeance burst, 
And she was driven forth accursed — 
Expelled with blows and scornful jeers 
Alone to face a thousand sneers, 
To be the by-word of the horde 
That gloat on Honor unrestored 
And Beauty tarnished in its bloom — 

63 



64 



MONTMORENCI. 



Though foul themselves as harlots vile, 
That swiftly scent the trail of guile, 
And hound the erring to their doom 
Yet deem they serve their God the while 



ill. 



Above her now no mourner weeps — 
Not even a stone shows where she sleeps. 



MONTMORENCL 






T T ER idle creed was quickly taught — 

*■ A To wear her garlands while the winds were 

warm ; 
To search the fullest bliss from any lot, 
Nor trim her silken sails for any storm. 



JADED. 

T REALIZE that all I seek 

-*- Is transient as the words we speak, 

Is evanescent as the bloom 

Upon the rose just ere its doom 

Is whispered by the chilling breeze — 

You alone have power to please. 

I am sick of toil — lo ! let us sin. 
There are more raptures garnered in 
One hour of love with you alone 
Than e'er Ambition called its own. 

I am sick of hope — it is a cheat 
That thrills us deepest ere defeat. 
There are more joys in wine and thee, 
In one brief moment, than the years 
Have ever yielded unto me. 
Life is bitterness and tears. 



H ALCYONE. 

There is no substance in it all — 
But emptiness and utter woe. 
Let Fame's reluctant laurels fall 
On other brows — ah ! be it so, 
I little reck, so but you smile, 
For life is such a little while 
It scarce is well to reach so far — 
To. waste it in ^ch ceaseless war ; 
Be thou my solace and my star. 



66 



HAL CY ONE. 



A/OU caught more graces from that scene 

■*■ Than Egypt's proud and fated queen 
Imperious wore, in Fortune's smile, 
When, drifting o'er the placid Nile, 
The love songs of her nymphs subdued 
The very winds her galleys wooed. 



PASSION. 

T J OW sweet to Youth seems Passion's prize, 
A A Beyond all joys Time garners in ! 
How yearning hearts leap up and fall, 
And thunder with impassioned call, 
Despising dreads, o'er-riding all, 
To reach but wild abandon's sin ! 
How through the veins the swift blood flies ; 
How languor dims beseeching eyes, 
Or how those orbs intensely blaze, 
Portraying with their vivid rays 
The agony that reigns within — 
The tumult strange, the fierce desire, 
The mad intent, the raging fire, 
The whirlwind strife that soul and will 
In hopelessness essay to still ! 
When glamoured o'er with Fancy's hues, 
What bright regalia sin assumes ! 

67 






68 



mo. 



How warm and wayward Youth imbues 
Each charnel scene with summer blooms, 
O'erlooks each snare, and but beholds 
Serenest Joy where Pain unfolds 
Its hydra fangs, or Woe consumes ! 



mo. 



A ROSIER cyprian's footsteps ne'er fell 
'**■ Along the sunny boundaries of Hell. 



TEMPTATION. 

^T^HERE is a most delicious thrill 

^ In coy Temptation's soft approach ; 
It does not rouse the angry will 
With bold, free strides, 
But steals its course with matchless skill, 
As water glides. 

In dainty whispers does it broach 
The darkest deed, appearing still 
In winning guise. 
It fascinates like serpents' eyes, 
And lulls the senses like a dream. 
The blackest crimes bewitching seem 
Beneath the magic of its spell ; 
It lures the wayward thoughts to dwell 
Where e'er it choose, with subtlest art; 
Stealthily it moulds the heart 
To wild desires, and stills the pain 






70 



TOM PAINE, 



That Conscience gives ; then the dull brain 
Applauds the deed, and loosens rein. 
Or, with hot and frantic haste, 
Awakes to horrors half embraced, 
And seeks supremacy again. 



TOM PAINE. 



T TN ANSWERED and unmatched he died 
^ The free alone revere his name. 






A KANSAS PICTURE. 

/^\N, on through wastes untamed and dread, 
^^ Our lone and silent marches led ; 
Wide stretched the plains, untouched by man, 
Where still and solemn rivers ran ; 
Green rose the woods beneath a sky- 
That heard no sounds, and far and nigh 
Within the horizon's vast belt, 
A world spread out wherein there dwelt 
No throne of power to set aright 
The ruthless wrongs imposed by Might, 
Or w r reaked by Hate, or wrought by Lust, 
No safe-guard that the weak might trust, 
No lofty court of last appeal, 
No law save that the rudest feel 
Within their hearts ; naught to oppose 
Marauder's craft or ruffian's blows — 
Only Nature's grand repose. 

71 



OPPORTUNITY. 



T T OW vain are Wisdom's mandates cold, 
* *■ The voice of precept or of creed ; 

How vain example may unfold 

Its logic stern, 

Or Honor burn 

With lofty zeal to intercede ; 

How passing vain, in Beauty's need, 

Are all prevailing powers of good, 

If but she list, in tacit mood, 

To soft Temptation's siren call, 

And Circumstance approve her fall ! 

It little recks who wooes her then — 

Too soon she wails o'er what hath been. 

72 






aLENDARE. 

T T E loved to view roused Nature's rage 
* ^ And read, as from a written page, 
The signs she traced on mountains hoar, 
On flaming skies, on seas in pain, 
On rushing stream or beaten shore, 
On quaking hill or ravaged plain. 
Where e'er she wrote he loved to read ; 
And if her tameless instincts chose 
The rending whirlwind for a steed, 
And sin-stained cities for her foes, 
He murmured not — he had no cause 
To pity where such hatred dwelt — 
Revenge was all of human laws, 
Before whose shrine he willing knelt ; 
And had some horror menaced earth, 
Some scourge to sweep from land to land, 
Could he have stayed it at its birth, 

73 



74 



" THE LAST MANr 



He had withheld his saving hand. 
Condemn such spirit ye who will, 
The world's own lessons teach it still, 



' THE LAST MAN:' 



A LL human forms may vanish quite, 
^ *■ Like races now extinct, 
And still the world roll on. 



THE DREAMS OF THE STARVING* 

FITFUL sleep was purchased by exhaustion, 
And like the trance brought on by subtle 
drugs, 
Teemed with strange, voluptuous fancies. 
No more a starving, wretch the dreamer seemed, 
No more the bitter taunts of heartless foes 
Set baffled hatred rankling in his soul, 
Hopeless of the day when vengeance might be won; 
But, like an oriental king, he trod 
The halls of gorgeous palaces, spacious, 
Fantastic, and unreal, yet wherein 
Were banquets spread of such luxurious state 
The gods from high Olympus might have come 
And gorged themselves like heedless wantons. 
Anon he lolled on beds of dying flowers, 
Whose odors through his drunken senses stole 

* Anderaon ville. 
75 



74 



THE LAS 'T MAN. 



He had withheld his saving hand. 
Condemn such spirit ye who will, 
The world's own lessons teach it still 



" THE LAST MAN." 



A LL human forms may vanish quite, 
^ ^ Like races now extinct, 
And still the world roll on. 



THE DREAMS OF THE STARVING^* 

FITFUL sleep was purchased by exhaustion, 
And like the trance brought on by subtle 
drugs, 
Teemed with strange, voluptuous fancies. 
No more a starving wretch the dreamer seemed, 
No more the bitter taunts of heartless foes 
Set baffled hatred rankling in his soul, 
Hopeless of the day when vengeance might be won; 
But, like an oriental king, he trod 
The halls of gorgeous palaces, spacious, 
Fantastic, and unreal, yet wherein 
Were banquets spread of such luxurious state 
The gods from high Olympus might have come 
And gorged themselves like heedless wantons. 
Anon he lolled on beds of dying flowers, 
Whose odors through his drunken senses stole 



* Anderaonyille. 
75 



MEXICO IN PROSPECT. 

X A 7HEN the flood-tides of fortune have swept 
^ * me afar, 

Have wafted my bark to the lands of the sun, 
0, leave the fair gates of your Mem'ry ajar, 

And think, O, think of the wandering one. 

While strangers and aliens encompass me then, 

And the sad heart turns to its happier day, 
O, waste you a thought for the times that have 
been, 
And a thought for the perils that darken my 
way. 

When the treacherous foeman beleaguers our path, 
And hosts embattled are gathering near, 

How oft will I turn from their threatening wrath, 
To ponder on one remembered and dear. 

79 



8u 



MEXICO IN PROSPECT. 



When the cannon's deep echo, and musketry's 
crash, 

Roll o'er the fields ensanguined with gore ; 
When the columns contending, invincibly rash, 

Their murderous volleys incessantly pour ; 

When the plains shake with carnage, the mountains 
with dread, 
And the atmosphere quakes with the hideous 
roar, 
O, then will I think of the days that are fled, 
The halcyon days returning no more. 



When the wild cheers of triumph sweep up to the 
sky, 

And drown the fierce contest's tumultuous din, 
O, then will I spurn their encomiums high, 

To ponder on one whom I dared never win. 



FRANCE. 

/^\ BLEEDING and grand, yet fallen land, 
^^ 1 Whose splendor has vanished for aye, 
What touch can restore that masterly hand 

That pointed thy legions the magical way 
To triumphs so vast the world stood aghast, 

And wondering gazed on thy towering might, 
While kingdoms went down before the wild blast 

That swelled from the tumult of tight? 
O, if the wierd grave could yield up thy brave, 

Embattled beneath the great Corsican's glance, 
While he led them on, thy glories to save, 

What arm could arrest their haughty advance? 
If Helena's lone king to the contest could spring, 

With power to marshal and hosts to obey, 
How nations would tremble and Europe would 
ring, 

As he smote the stern monarch who cumbers 
thy way ! 

6a 81 



82 



FRANCE. 



O, if the proud dead could gaze from o'erhead, 

To pity the throes of thy terrible pain, 
How Napoleon would mourn o'er thy majesty fled, 

And chafe to be with you again ! 
How his falchion bright, through the varying fight, 

Would flasK like the lightnings of God ; 
And how the foe in affright would fly from his 
sight, 

Or crouch where the conqueror trod ! 
How Destruction would spread with a mantle of 
dead, 

The fields where his thunderbolts fell ; 
And how the plains where his vengeance impetuous 
sped 

Would glow like the portals of Hell ! 
But his fierce race is run, and his work is undone, 

And Destiny mocks at his powerless pain, 
And the eagle that soared till it challenged the sun, 

Back to the earth must flutter again. 



CLEARINGS THE COAST OF TEXAS. 

r I "HE crescent shores are dazzling bright 

* Beneath the sunset's glow, 
And, deluged with the yellow light, 
The distant headlands woo the sight, 
As gleaming o'er the billows white 
They check the ocean's inward flow. 

Slow sinks the sun within the west, 

Obscured behind his golden fleece ; 
The lambent glory round his crest 
Sinks on the ocean's lonely breast, - 
And lights the surge's wild unrest, 

Till Night command the pageant cease. 

Then dark the clouds sweep o'er the sky, 

Responsive to the tempest's roar ; 
The angry waters struggle high, 



84 CLEARING THE COAST OF TEXAS. 

And vainly seeks the weary eye 
To pierce the gloomy wastes that lie 
Between it and the fading shore. 

The vessel plunges on its way, 

Our native clime is past, 
Our track is through the ocean spray ; 
And where the fearful breakers lay, 
And where the whirlwind seeks its prey, 

We still must fly before the blast. 

Perchance the gale that drives us on 

May sweep us to our doom ; 
Perchance the stars, so pale and wan, 
May see the last lorn prospect gone, 
And ere the light of laggard dawn 

Our minute gun may boom. 

Ah ! fiercer yet the tempest swells, 
And darker yet the heavens grow ; 

A deeper shade o'er midnight tells, 

The blast shrieks like a demon's yells ; 

Dread thunders rumble forth their knells 
In monodies of woe. 



CLEARING THE COAST OF TEXAS, 

Ah ! what a scene on which to gaze — 

The ocean lashed to foam, 
While mountain high the billows raise, 
And in its lurid splendor plays 
The baleful lightning's angry blaze, 

Imperious in its cloudy home. 

In fragments hang the bursted sails, 

The masts bend low but do not break ; 
The sternest eye a moment quails, 
The warmest cheek a moment pales, 
The firmest heart a moment fails, 
And nerves of iron shake. 



85 



But true the oak as massive steel, 

Back to its place it springs again, 
And while the sullen thunders peal, 
And ghastly horrors round us steal, 
And stricken cravens frenzied kneel, 
Down sweep the storms of frozen rain. 

The slippery deck with ice is laid, 

Beware the surge that sweeps it o'er, 
For vain the hand that 's stretched for aid, 
6b 



86 CLEARING THE COAST OF TEXAS, 

And vain the cry for succor made, 
When hero hearts become afraid 
That never cringed before: 

Some hideous power directs the gale, 
Some hellish spirit seems to reign ; 
Above the prow the waters scale, 
And should the flimsy hatches fail, 
Our fate may form some solemn tale 
To warn the daring from the main. 

But gallant forms spring up the mast 

And cling to yards that dip the spray, 
And while the ship is hurled and cast 
As though each moment were its last, 
They furl the canvas from the blast, 
And set the hurricane at bay. 



IN CUBAN WATERS. 



QLOV moves the vessel on her weary way, 
^ The dying breeze scarce fans the tide, 
And rainbows gather o'er the spray 

That feebly dashes from her side ; 
The surges in colossal slumbers lay, 

And furl their crests of foamy pride ; 
The nautilus scarcely deigns to ride 

Upon its voyages to fairy land, 
But leans upon its satin side 

As anchored by some human hand, 
And lures the daybeams as they glide 

From sunny sea to lovely land. 
The gorgeous sky with brilliant tints 

Is grandly rich within the west, 
And golden rods from heavenly mints 

Down in the tide are deeply pressed. 



87 



88 



IN CUBAN WATERS. 



The land lolls in the drowsy blaze, 

The groves hang down their haughty heads, 
The mountains blue undaunted gaze 

Whence all the glow of splendor spreads ; 
And such a beauty gathers round 

The earth, and seas, and skies, 
I wonder if a soul e'er found 

A fairer clime in Paradise. 



ON THE WESTERN OCEAN 



r I "HERE 'S a surging sea before us, 

■* And a gloomy waste around, 
And the angry heavens o'er us 

All day have darkly frowned, 
And the gale that seems to master 

All things that meet the eye, 
But drives us on the faster 

Where hidden perils lie. 
All nature seems in travail, 

The billows e'en complain, 
Then who shall sneer or cavil 

With cynical disdain, 
If I shall own a sadness 

As Memory portrays 
Those scenes of glowing gladness 

We knew in other days ? 
Those fleeting scenes of pleasure 

89 



90 



ON THE WESTERN OCEAN. 



That sped so swift away, 
When Joy filled up its measure 

And ev'ry heart was gay ; 
When Youth with haughty madness, 

The gauntlet flung to care, 
And never sigh or sadness 

Could hope to enter there — 
When we crowned the hours with roses, 

Nor marked them as they went, 
Nor how each year discloses 

Some deeper discontent ; 
Nor dreamed how soon our number 

Would be a broken thing, 
Nor who would lowly slumber 

Beneath the flowers of spring ; 
Nor heeded we the morrow 

Nor what its dawn would bring, 
Nor feared we hand of sorrow, 

The aching heart to wring. 
Then fill the hours with gladness, 

And revel while ye may, 
For life is full of sadness — 

Ah ! whirl it swift away. 



SAINT aEORQWS CHANNEL ON A 
CLEAR DAY. 



r I "HE glass}^ tide in its dormant pride 

*■ Spreads boundless beneath the sun, 
And a misty haze on the horizon lays 

Like the smoke of a battle won ; 
And the breezes bland from the shadowy land 

Steal lazily on their way, 
And the sea-nymphs hid imperiously bid 

Meridian splendors play. 
There 's many a scene with shores as green, 

And billowy wastes as fair, 
Where the lineaments bold of the mountain peaks 
cold 

Loom out on the dreamy air ; 
And the Master's hand in characters grand 

Has written his emblems of might, 
And the sea and the land are daintily planned 

To thrill the lone heart with delight ; 

91 



92 ST. GEORGE'S CHANNEL ON A CLEAR DA Y. 

And the eye may range through measureless change 

And limitless regions of light — 
But, ah ! choose for me this beautiful sea 

As it glitters beneath the sun, 
And a misty haze on the horizon lays 

Like the smoke of a battle won. 



THE TOMB OF BYRON. 



r I ^HE gloomy church in grand decay, 

^ Seems fitted for his last repose. 
Eight centuries have passed away 

Since first in majesty it rose, 
And yet in massive strength it stands, 

A monument of cycles flown ; 
Ah ! withered are the faithful hands 

That reared aloft its ancient stone. 
Around its walls, now aged and hoar, 

A thousand graves are thickly spread, 
Where sleep the valor and the lore 

That once in field and forum led. 
Their shattered slabs, beneath the sun 

Recount no tales of honors past — 
Their epitaphs have one by one 

Been blotted out by rain or blast. 
The rose-flecked vines, in mantles wide, 



94 



THE TOMB OF BYRON. 



Stream o'er the windows stained within, 
As though in tenderness to hide 

Their images from outward sin, 
And as the breeze, with gentlest care, 

The inflorescence softly sways, 
A mournful sigh steals on the air 

That murmurs of departed days. 
The aisles are dim with softened light, 

The pillars old are dusk and bare, 
And here and there a tablet white 

Records whose bones are crumbling there 
Strange shadows move at Fancy's freak, 

And silence reigns so deep and dread 
'Twere sacrilegious* but to speak, 

For 'neath the stones on which you tread, 
Secure from Slander's venomed tongue, 

Or ruthless Hatred's reeking blade, 
Shrined only by the songs he sung, 

The bard of all the world is laid. 



TEE VOICE OF TEE WINDS. 

A H ! dark and austere, and savagely drear, 
^ * The wide waters spread to the fathomless sea, 
And the winds that arose from their sullen repose, 
Had a myriad voices for me. 

When the zephyrs that float from the rich glowing 
west, 

Oft thrill us with murmurs and sighs, 
And the gales that disturb the face of the deep 

Sound the paeans of turbulent skies, 

Who doubts that the mind, in sadder refrains, 
Can interpret the burden so solemnly sung, 

Can gather from Nature's gloomier strains 
A weightier wisdom than eloquent tongue 

Ere thundered from altar or forum profound 
To listening masses low bended in awe — 

95 



96 



THE VOICE OE THE WINDS. 



A weightier wisdom, that vaults o'er the bound 
That encircles Jehovah's inscrutable Law ? 

I believe that these sounds, though mystic and 
crude, 

Are lessons that from Omnipotence fall, 
And that the mind, when in a sensitive mood, 

Can ponder and fathom them all. 



And as I stood on the steep that looked o'er the sea, 
And the winds came forth to trouble the night, 

A magical lore seemed given to me 
To read their wierd symphonies right. 



NAPOLEON IN OBSCURITY. 



( Written in the Garden of the Tkiileries.) 



A70UNG, lithe, erect, slight as a girl, 

* Soldier-like in step, with bearing proud ; 
Dark hair that fell in wave and curl 
Upon his shoulders like a cloud 
Wherein the tempest finds a home ; 
Firm lips that spoke a will of steel — 
Unchangeable as Heaven's dome; 
Fierce eyes whose glance you half could feel, 
So piercingly they gazed ; whose glow 
Was eloquent of lofty woe, 
Imperial pride, unflinching zeal, 
And slumb'ring yet transcendant power ; 
(In bitter gloom they seemed to lower 
On vacant air, as though his brain 

n 97 



98 



NAPOLEON IN OBSCURITY. 



Revolved deep thoughts of savage pain 

He would not banish, and then they grew 

Triumphant in their baleful hue 

As though Imagination threw 

Around some scheme you could not guess, 

The halo of profound success ;) 

Features fair, cast in heroic mould, 

For avarice had ne'er controlled 

His thoughts, to stamp its craven lines 

Upon his brow, nor passions base, 

Since each low pursuit swift defines 

Its hideous brand or secret trace ; 

An air that haughtily bespoke 

One born not for Oppression's yoke, 

But framed by nature for command ; 

One who had been, in some soft land, 

Enthroned in ease, a poet grand, 

Whose stormy numbers idly flung 

To listening throngs, had rung 

Through all the world, till nations hung 

Upon the music of his tongue, 

Or on his harp's impassioned strain, 

Bewildered and enrapt ; yet one, 



NAPOLEON IN OBSCURITY. . 99 

Had Treason dared its horrid reign 

O'er empires stricken and undone, 

Had seized the helm of State, or sword, 

And scattered far Dissension's horde, 

Or fiercely hurled Invasion back 

To whence it came — one who did not lack 

The gentler weaknesses that win 

The humbler myriads to sin 

And luxury, and sloth, but who 

Around his soul such cordons drew 

Of stern resolves, that Beauty's bloom 

Was baffled by his sullen gloom ; 

That Pleasure spread for him in vain 

Its Circean toils, and wanton Ease 

Was powerless to forge a chain 

So coyly screened he could not seize 

And rend in twain. 

Such was the chief ere yet his name 

Was blazoned on the scroll of fame. 



AT THE ALTAR. 

PHOUGH scarcely false, and yet not true, 
May never woe confound thee ; 
May peace upon thy footsteps wait, 

And myriad joys surround thee. 
May troops of friends be ever near, 

May tender lips caress thee ; 
May ev'ry weal that mortals know 

Be ever nigh to bless thee. 
May noble thoughts and righteous aims 

In kindly deeds employ thee, 
And never sad or secret fear 

With sombre hand annoy thee. 
May wealth throw round thy pathway fair 

Its jewels without number, 
And restless thoughts of other days 

In ceaseless quiet slumber. 

May health weave round thy happy home 

100 



AT THE ALTAR. 



101 



A cordon for thy blessing, 
And genial words and gentle smiles, 

Of truest love confessing, 
Be ever thine to make thy life 

A journey strewn with roses, 
Nor ever Fortune teach thee where 

A single grief reposes. 



POEMS OF CAMP AND 
FIELD. 

1862-1865. 



OFF TO THE WARS. 



A DIEU, sweet maids of honor frail, 
^*^ And charms too fair to last ; 
Adieu, each dear and sunny vale, 

Where happiest hours have passed ; 
Where sweeps Destruction's lurid gale 

My future lot is cast. 



105 



A CASUAL REFLECTION. 

r I "'HE special talents that secure a rope 

-*- Are also requisite to win a star ; 
And to rob a scoundrel of his future hope, 

And send him howling to his Maker's bar, 
Is but to teach the ribald crowd 

That gathers round your scaffold base, 
That had you fled the hangman's shroud 

You might have led in Glory's god -like chase, 
To cut a throat, or fire a town, 

Or lead battalions down to death, 
Are but varied routes to fair renown, — 

That empty bubble of mortal breath. 

106 



IN LINE OF BATTLE. 

V SIT beside the flowing stream, 
A And Fancy's hand is weaving fast 
The fabric of a happy dream 
Too deep with joy to last. 

I see no more the camp-fires red, 
The ranks impatient for the fray, 

The tents o'er hill and lowland spread, — 
My vagrant thoughts are far away. 

I dream of home and distant friends, 
Of wild woods dear in childhood's day, 

And, careless that the strife impends, 
I farther launch my thoughts away. 

I dream of every peaceful scene 

Where early footsteps loved to stray, 

As by my couch of tufted green 
My burnished arms unheeded lay. 

107 



108 ^N LINE OF BA TTLE. 

I mark no more the pomp of war, 

Nor lines of glowing steel, 
Nor cannons old with rust and scar 

To make battalions reel. 

I dream of haunts where sunny days 
Were never dark with woe, 

Ere Combat bid our cities blaze, 
And hurled us on the foe. 

I dream that strife has ceased to be, 
And Danger's paths no more we tread, 

That shackled States once more are free, 
And fields no more with blood are red. 

I dream that all the sweet delights 
That Youth can hope to win, 

Have called us from these gory fights, 
And hemmed their horrors in. 

Yet, as beside the flowing stream 
I mark no more the pomp of war, 

But idly dream my happy dream, 
The sullen cannons roar afar. 



CORINTH. 

A BOUT the souls of gallant men 
^ Does Glory weave a subtle spell, 
And yet her voice is but a knell, 
A siren sound, a fleeting breath, 
That rises from the sullen grave 
To animate the thoughtless brave, 
And crown their manly toils with death, 

109 



HO! FOB VICKSBUBa. 

^HE call hath come — we must away ! 
-*- Farewell this green and flowery spot, 
And welcome now the banners gay, 

And now the howl of rifle shot, 
And let the battle lightnings play, 

For Northland warriors falter not. 

Farewell, once more, the quiet camp ; 

Farewell ye scenes where roses bloom ; 
And welcome now the host's dull tramp, 

And clash of arms, and waving plume ; 
For ere young Luna lights her lamp 

We '11 hear the foeman's cannon boom. 

Farewell ye fields and forests green, 

Ye have lost your charms for me ; 

I would not linger though a queen 

110 



HO! FOR VICKSBURG. \\\ 

Arrayed her halls of dance in thee, 
For my spirit longs for a wilder scene, 
And the silvery cheers of victory. 

Vicksburg's walls are proud and high, 
And Death sits throned upon her steep ; 

But when our iron engines ply 

We '11 rouse her from her giant's sleep ; 

And if beneath her walls we die, 

O'er nobler graves who could weep ? 



ONCE MORE TO TEE CAMPS. 

TV /T Y cheek is pale, my pulse beats fast, 
^ * -* My limbs are faint and sore ; 
I shiver in this wintry blast, 

I tremble at its roar, 
And shall my dreary lot be cast 
Amid this Northland hoar ? 

No more for me the leaden cloud 

Will frown along the sky ; 
No more for me the tempest loud 

Will howl and shriek and sigh ; 
No more for me in snowy shroud 

The King of Ice will whirl on high. 

* No more for me the cutting cold 

Will range the frosty air ; 

No more for me o'er heath and wold 

The winds will chorus of despair ; 
112 



FORTITUDE. H3 

No more for me the snows will fold 
Their robes o'er all that 's fair. 

Farewell this drear and hostile clime, 

It has no beauties for my soul ; 
Its very streams, with notes sublime, 

To the southern valleys roll ; 
Why waste I here my fleeting time 

In this desert of my soul ? 

Huzza ! for the vine hills far away ! 

For the fields with cotton white ! 
Huzza ! for the land of genial day, 

And the land of radiant night ! 
Huzza ! for the land of fierce affray, 

Of sun, and song, and fight ! 



i 



FORTITUDE. 

F the tried spirit do not bend, 

There thrives no woe that will not end. 

8 



WAB. 

/^^ O prate to fools of Glory's breath, 
^-^ Of honors won amid the fray ; 
Of daring deeds in face of death, 

Where hecatombs are swept away ; 
Of all the idle pomp of fame, 

Of laurels dyed in human gore ; 
Of grateful cities' high acclaim, 

And History's immortal score ; 
Of all the horrors knaves invent 

To minister to gain ; 
Of all the scourges ever sent 

To thrive on misery and pain. 
I hate them all — the foes of weal, 

The ruthless reapers of the grave ; 
Fools only fight while scoundrels steal, 

And cities spurn their mangled brave ; 

114 



WAR. 115 

The flimsy wreath soon fades away, 
The dauntless lines are soon forgot, 

And Death exults above his prey, 
And haunts alone the bloody spot. 



YOUTHFUL POEMS 



1865-1868. 



ON THE KANSAS PLAINS. 



A H ! cursed fiends, Avith subtle hands 
^ ^ Ye ply your lurid master's trade 
Where cities mar unhappy lands 

That Gocl in beauty made, 
But not within the desert free 

Ye bid the flowers of Pleasure fade, 
Nor can your reign nntrammeled be 

Within the boundless forest's shade ; 
Nor where mountain streams in sunlight dance 

Can Care, thy minion stern, intrude, 
To wither with his baleful glance 

The happy realms of solitude. 
No ! the desert yet is free from Care, 

Its breezes bear no drear refrain 
To bid the aching heart despair, 

Or wake anew the pangs of pain. 
O, had I some weird Olympian power 

119 



120 ON THE KANSAS PLAINS. 

To mould the universe anew, 
Proud capitals should be the dower 

Of Destruction's hungry crew ; 
Red Riot for his ragged horde 

Should win a surfeit for a day, 
And Might should vainly lift its sword 

To bid the panting rabble stay. 
Then the earth I 'd sweep with Phaetonic fire, 

And its proud, pretentious realms destroy ; 
Avarice should see each grasping wretch expire 

O'er the dull hoards that formed his joy ; 
Pride should see her pampered knaves 

O'er their heaped -up plumage wail ; 
Oppression with its cringing slaves 

Should perish in the fiery gale ; 
Hypocrisy should vainly seek to hide 

With cloak and mask its hideous form ; 
Civilization, with brilliant crime allied, 

Should crumble in the wrathful storm. 
Every vestige of man's unnatural life 

Should be sternly swept away, 
And when the elements had ceased their strife, 

And the winged lightnings their vengeful play, 



ON THE KANSAS PLAINS, 



121 



The pitying heavens should kindly weep, 
And with green verdure robe the soil 

Where joyless serfs now sow and reap 
Or sink beneath their ceaseless toil ; 

And where gilded cities groan with crime, 
And Fashion holds her gaudy reign, 

There should dawn another halcyon time, 
And the free forests should spring up again ; 

And the grand old streams, unmeant for slaves, 
Should murmur wild and lawless strains, 

And as sunshine lit their silver waves, 
Go winding through unbounded plains ; 
And the swelling hills, from man reclaimed, 

Should bear profuse their grasses tall, 
Where countless herds should roam untamed 

And be the common wealth of all. 
And the lordly crags, where threatening shines 

The enginery of pain and death, 
Should scarcely bear their weight of vines 

To woo the south wind's balmy breath. 
Earth should be for all — not for the hateful few 

Who rear them Babels like the fools of old, 
And thrust aside the good and true 



122 ON THE KANSAS PLAINS. 

Who scorn their gods of senseless gold. 
No narrow lines should check the flowing will, 

Or bid the careless wand'rer stay ; 
No turbid stream or tiny rill 

Should bound a prince or nabob's sway. 
Man's will, like the summer wind, 

Should be unchecked, unfettered, free, — 
None should seek to rule or bind, 

But all as equal lords should be. 
No low sprung rules should dare to chain 

Each burning impulse of the human breast ; 
But License, like a glorious queen, should reign, 

Her laws the first, the wildest, and the best. 
Ah ! Earth for once should truly be 

What grey old sages oft have planned, 
And Man for once so truly free 
That not a fruit on Eden's tree 

But should grow for any hand. 



THE LOST GENIUS. 



THE TALE OF A SUICIDE. 

/^\ 'TIS hell to feel within the mind 

^^ 1 Those god-like traits that lead to fame, 

And yet be fettered and confined 

Within a field prescribed and tame, 

Doomed to a dull life of sluggish shame, 

And with no higher, wilder aim 

Than to follow the round of foul routine, 

When did not Fate some baser idol claim 

The nations might tremble at your name, 

And Glory gild it with her golden sheen ! 

Whine o'er your woes, O lachrymosial crew — 

Make shrines and bow to sirens fair — 

In sad ecstacy dream o'er eyes of blue, 

O'er cheeks a-bloom, o'er queenly hair, 

O'er bosoms white as Sierra's snows, 

And glowing forms beyond compare 

133 



124 THE LOST GENIUS. 

That rival arms must yield repose 
Till roused by cold neglect and care, 
And mourn that charms so warmly sought 
Should bless or curse some taunting foe ; 
In savage wrath upbraid the lot 
That Heaven ne'er designed for woe, 
R ut ah ! till ye 've felt the racking throes 
That baffled ambition feels 
Talk not of grief! A sensual passion grows 
Dead with time, and the wound heals, 
But a hopeless, burning thirst for fame 
Is quenched alone with a lifeless frame. 

Thus, too, deemed the sullen chief ; he longed to 

die, 
And explore the mysteries of the grave, 
Nor cared what darkened fate might lie 
Beyond Death's weird and silent wave. 
No idle fable checked his soaring thought — 
No scroll with utter follv sealed, 
To prophecy the mystic lot 
That Heaven never yet revealed. 
In scorn he left their brutal creeds 



THE LOST GENIUS, 



125 



To those who thrive on Superstition's wiles 
Who cloak in cant their dragon deeds, 
And secret woo soft Pleasure's smiles. 



From his very boyhood days 

Fame had been his constant dream. 

While his glad comrades wrought their idle plays 

He drew apart, and beside some lonely stream, 

With pensive brow and absent air, 

Depicted in his burning brain 

Broad fields illumed with battle's glare, 

And swept with Death's relentless rain, 

And rocking 'neath the terrible tread 

Of charging lines, and the deafening roar 

Of black artillery, while the hot sunlight shed 

A spectral splendor o'er the realm of gore. 

And foremost 'mong the reckless riders there, 

Guiding the van with impetuous mein, 

And wresting victory from despair, 

His own wild form was seen. 

And then he dreamed of triumphal cheers, 

And the foe's imposing might o'erthrown, 

The applause of millions in their joyous tears, 



126 THE LOST GENIUS. 

And Fame's unfading laurels all his own. 
And o'er and o'er his dream he dreamed, 
As time waned on from year to year, 
And yet such dazzling glory farther seemed 
At every step, until a sickly fear 
O'ercame him, and faith was lost, and pride 
Taught him to despise the deeds he 'd done, 
And in high contempt to fling aside 
The humble chaplets he had won, 
And then in brightness woman came 
To plunge his blasted days in deeper shame. 
Oh ! then had but some fierce colossal strife 
Strewn thick the land with mangled clay, 
How grandly had he sold his wasted life 
But to have led the shock on some immortal 
day! 

I cannot believe that men can fail 

When every hope is centered on undying fame, 

And the strong soul, like a warrior clad in mail, 

Scorns before a barrier to quail 

Until is reached its god -like aim. 



THE LOST GENIUS. 127 

And yet how few e'er find the fields of high em- 
prise 

Whereon to charm the noisy crowds they secretly 
despise ? 

So life an utter curse had grown, 

And death was the surgery he chose 

To cure its ills ; no coward moan 

Escaped his lips at thought of vile repose ; 

No shudder marked the deed a gloomy crime 

To mar eternities of after time ; 

But sternly and calmly he cast up the sum 

Of existence, and the gloomy balance drew, 

Whereat Conscience' lips were dumb, 

Or owned the dreadful reckoning true. 



ON A FRIEND'S MAERIAaK 

T^AREWELL, thou fool, to lawless bliss, 
-*- And welcome now the fangs of Care ; 
Thy pay — a cold embrace and lifeless kiss, 

And charms that Time will soon impair, 
Or wantonness betray for gold 

To hated foe or mouthing friend, 
For since the serpent's feat of old, 

What dame to folly will not bend ? 
And since Ambition hath roused thy brain, 

And fame hath been thy lofty goal, 
Dream not thy glorious dreams again, 

Nor fire again thy longing soul, 
But like a giant in affray, 

Cast prostrate in his shame, 
Behold thy future fade away — 

What hath a slave to do with fame ? 

128 



ON A FRIEND'S MARRIAGE. 129 

O, bright and golden youth ! 

Each sunny hour enthroned in bliss ! 
How can it be that fools will throw 

Thy peerless glories down for this ? 



LINES. 

Hr IS sad to wake from some delicious trance, 
' *■ And^find its baseless splendors fled ; 
'T is sad to meet some dear, familiar glance, 

And find its soul of love is dead ; 
'Tis sad to see a noble bark 

Go down amid the sea ; 
'T is sad to sit and silent mark 

A well loved spirit flee ; 
'T is sad to see a gallant band 

Close round a leader tried, 
And see the foe, with potent hand, 

O'erwhelm them in their pride ; 
'Tis sad to see a dauntless form 

Guide conquest on its way, 
And pass unscathed amid the storm. 

To fall at close of day ; 
'Tis sad in indigence to feel 



LINES. 



131 



The sting of Fortune's bitter frown, 
Nor hope to make the rabble kneel 

Before your genius and renown ; 
'Tis sad to see the crumbling wall 

Where childhood's home hath been ; 
'Tis sad to see a dear one fall, 

And feel your own the sin. 



ALL IS VANITY. 

T T EAP high your piles of massive stone, 
^ A Pursue your dreams of golden lust, 
Time will claim them all his own, 

And strew your gods in crumbling dust. 

132 



AT NIAGiARA. 



ON, wild waters, with j^our flight — 
I glory in your sullen power, 

Your grand contempt of human might, 

Your untamed strength, your splendid dower 

Of fierce beauty, more winning far 

Than woman in her rarest hour. 

Who can stay you ? Who can bar 

Your headlong tides, when mortals cower, 

Struck deep with awe, appalled with fear, 

E'en at your voice ? 

Rejoice, O, roaring floods, rejoice ! 

Speak till the bending heavens hear ! 

Proclaim yourselves ! Hurl swift your sounds 

To earth's remotest walls, 

For Man is but the worm that crawls 

In the sun's glare for a brief day, 

But you endure alway. 

Time, for you, prescribes no bounds. 

138 



FATM. 

T TS very accident of will is law, 

-* And yet, while kingdoms crumble at its beck 

And fill a startled world with awe, 

It flings aside the mighty wreck 
Mayhap with cunning hand to turn 

The humble chances of some laison low, 
To teach some trustful heart to burn, 

Or guide fond Faith adown the steeps of woe ; 
Or yet to balk some well-laid scheme 

With deep damnation fraught, 
Or blast some sweet and lotus dream, 

Or mar same trebly subtle plot. 



134 



UNDINE. 

\ T 7ITH the northern summer's heat oppressed, 

Undine had left her curtained bed, 
And, wrapped in sweetest dreams of rest, 
Where murmuring breezes ceaseless shed 
A flood of coolness o'er her pillows low, 
Gliding about her with daintiest care, 
Kissing away her beauty's glow, 
Moving and fretting her golden hair, 
Unmarred, she lay, by shroud or robe, 
And bathed in a sea of Luna's light, 
Like some wandering spirit of a heavenly globe 
Outwearied with her measureless flight. 

<!/. "is. tie, «|t ^e. 

yf: Tfr • 3? vpr tk 

While thus appealing to the rarest taste 

Of noblest flighted minds, in its beauty chaste, 

Its voluptuous contour stealthily stole 

Upon the startled senses with a delicious might 

135 



186 UNDINE, 

To o'erpower the idolatrous soul 
Like distant music on a lovely night. 

7|C "S^v ^s >!» *l* 

Ah ! what a mellow fruit upon a tempting tree, 
Full ripened for a lawless hand ! 
What a stately bark upon a placid sea, 
Drifting toward the rocks and sand ! 
What a chafing steed upon a desert free, 
Neighing its rider with loud command ! 
What a blown, unrivalled rose to be 
Wasting on the breezes bland ! 
What a diamond on a barren waste, 
Courting the beams of a tell-tale sun ! 
What a nectar cup for the gods to taste ! 
What a voluptuous sprite to be undone ! 

,«Jf, i|£ \U ^|£ i|t 

Once more he sought her side, and kneeling low, 

Pressed on her cherry lips, so warmly fresh, 

A long impassioned kiss, whose fervor seemed to 

flow 
From heart, and mind, and blood and flesh. 
Bewildered, Undine woke, but ere her wild alarm 
Could ring upon the midnight air, 



UNDINE, 



137 



Successive kisses robbed her lips of harm, 
And smothered danger in its rosy lair. 
And as floating on the breathless hour 
Like the gentle notes of an angel's knell, 
Came the silver strokes from the distant tower, 
The sweet and hapless Undine fell. 



PROSE 



STORMY TIMES ON THE VEBDiaBEE. 



{Originally published in l * Chambers' 1 Journal," Bdinburgh.) 



f"*HERE were stormy times on the Verdigree. 

-*■ The redskins had sent us their ultimatum. 
There sat their Envoy Extraordinary, half naked, 
on his mangy steed, armed and equipped for war, 
and erect and imperturbable as Bismarck. The 
noon -day breeze just moved his trailing scalp- 
lock, else he might have passed for a painted 
statue. Herndon sat on a hewn slab of oak, beat- 
ing the long roll with the fragments of a broken 
ramrod, and laughingly commanded us to fall into 
line. But we had no trifling matter before us. 
That morning at sunrise we had spurred our ponies 
into the clear flowing waters of the Verdigree, 
floundered across to the opposite side, and after 
exploring one of the wildest solitudes of one of 

141 



142 STORMY TIMES ON THE VERDIGREE. 

the loveliest valleys of the West, had each selected 
a prolific tract of land, and determined to settle 
there for life. And at that very moment we were 
about to erect the first of our cabins. The jealous 
Osages had resented our summary proceeding, 
however, and had dispatched us a peremptory 
summons to retire across the river, or pay the pen- 
alty of non-compliance with our lives. They de- 
manded instant obedience. 

" Won't you just be kind enough to ride out to 
that there mound there?" said Ben, the black- 
moustached Missourian, to the vermilion - daubed 
savage, who partially understood English. " We 
want to talk this here thing over a little." And 
he pointed to a spot about thirty yards distant, as 
though he expected his request to be immediately 
complied with. The Indian nodded, wheeled his 
charger gracefully, and obeyed without a word. 

Our whole civil and military force had been 
mustered for the occasion. There were six of us, 
and we were all young and vigorous. Every man 
had " seen service," and the roughest kind at that. 
We held an impromptu council of war. 



STORMY TIMES ON THE VERDIGREE. 143 

" What do you think we'd better do, boys?" 
inquired Ben, quietly. 

A silence ensued. Each waited for the other 
to speak first. At last the "Texican" ventured 
his opinion. What his true name was I never 
learned. He was a native of Texas. From 
" Texan," the frontier lingo had metamorphosed 
his title into " Texican," and by that anomalous 
sobriquet we knew, respected, and called him. 

" I 'm in for a fight, boys," said he. " This here 
land ca n't be beat. It 's as much ours as it 's 
theirn, and it would n't look well, no how, for us 
to give in to 'em at a jump. They ain't give us a 
decent invitation to leave. The Comanches burnt 
a sister of mine, three year ago last fall, down on 
the old Texas line, and I ain't forgot it," and with 
a grating oath he swore he 'd " die in his boots 
before he 'd get out of the way for a set of greasy 
Osages. He shot 'em, any how, every chance he 
got." 

" You just settle the matter for yourselves, 
boys, whatever it 's to be," interposed the Mis- 
sourian, leaning his chin upon his hand as though 



144 STORMY TIMES ON THE VERDIGREE. 

nothing more than an every -day occurrence was 
being debated — as though a mere deal in " poker" 
was to be decided. 

" It 's all very well to talk about fighting it out," 
remarked Colton, " and it 's likely that we 've got 
as much sand in our craws as most folks, but what 
can six of us do against three or four hundred ? 
The game is all in their own hands, and they 
know it. I had all the fighting I wanted in the 
army, and do n't want any more of it if I can de- 
cently help it. We might throw our logs together 
and hold our own till morning, but it would turn 
out an ugly scrape before we got through with it. 
We 'd soon get out of rations, and we ain't got a 
drop of water ahead, and they 'd dance over our 
bones before to-morrow night. If the rest of you 
want to fight, though,— fight it is. I won't show 
the white feather." 

He was a young Minnesotian, and the frontiers- 
men credited him with being " as cool as a wedge, 
and sharper than steel." 

" I '11 tell you what I 'm in for," said " Ohio." 
" We 're all old vets at this military business, and 



STORMY TIMES ON THE VERDIGREE. 145 



we want to use a little strategy. We can 't fight 
all of 'em, and we want to come it over 'em some 
way. It 's better for even one of us to be killed 
than for all of us, for I do n't feel like falling back 
without burning some powder, myself, after the 
way we 've been talked to. I move that we pick 
our man and they pick theirs, and let the two 
shoot it out. If their man wins, we '11 evacuate ; 
if ours wins, we '11 stay." 

This was a novel proposition, and suited every 
one. Herndon, however, thought our champion 
should be selected by lot, and that the fight 
should be with rifles at twenty paces. 

The amendment was considered still better. 
We all cordially agreed. Ben motioned impor- 
tantly to the Envoy. That nude personage rode 
forward gravely, received the reply with haughty 
decorum, and was out of sight in a minute. 

" We 'd better load up in the mean time, boys," 
suggested " Ohio," "for if it don't suit 'em, 
they '11 be after us in short order." 

The idea was voted " not bad," and we not only 
charged our rifles and revolvers, but flung our logs 

10 



146 STORMY TIMES ON THE VERDIGREE. 

together in such a manner as to form a very- 
efficient defence. Herndon then kindled a fire, 
and commenced cooking dinner. In about fifteen 
minutes the same Indian again galloped up. Our 
proposition had met with much favor, he informed 
us, but would only be accepted on condition that 
the distance should be shortened to ten paces, and 
that the contest should continue until one of the 
principals was slain ; and that whether theirs was 
slain or not, if ours was slain we should retire. 

64 That 's pretty close quarters, boys," exclaimed 
Ben. " I got a scar once on about such a time 
table. But I guess it's all right. They know 
they can 't shoot with us. Give 'em a square 
deal." 

To this we all assented. The messenger then 
stated that within an hour the warriors of his band 
would assemble at an eminence half a mile distant, 
w T hich he pointed out, and that we would be there 
and then expected. We promised punctuality, 
and he rode off at a gallop. 

Next came the task of casting lots for the post 
of peril. It was a solemn moment, for no one 



STORMY TIMES ON THE VERDIGREE. 147 



could predict the result of the coming encounter. 
" Ohio" plainly wrote each man's name on a slip 
of paper torn from one of his mother's letters, and 
placed the scraps in a hat. " Texican " was blind- 
folded and deputed to draw for us. Whosoever's 
name was on the slip he drew was to be our cham- 
pion. He drew his own. 

"It's all right, boys," said he, earnestly, when 
the result was announced. " You could n't please 
me better." 

Then ensued a long period of silence, for we all 
had our misgivings. No unmanly bravado was in- 
dulged in. We dispatched our dinner as soon as 
possible, smoked quietly for a few moments, and 
then reticently mounted our ponies. 

On arriving at the place designated, we found 
the Osages in readiness, armed and painted. Two 
lances were stuck in the ground, ten paces apart, 
to mark the positions of the principals. " Texican," 
rifle in hand, walked calmly forward to the nearest 
one. In a few moments a tall young brave stepped 
from among the throng of savages, and stalked 
proudly up to the other. Herndon^ was then re- 



148 STORMY TIMES ON. THE VERDIGREE. 

quested to stand half way between them, and, in 
order not to disturb the accuracy of their aim, to 
stand only one pace back from the line of fire. He 
was to give the signal at the proper time. He ac- 
cepted the appointment without a pang of trepida- 
tion. There was no danger of being hit by such 
marksmen as they were. In his right hand he held 
a gaudy scarf. When he raised it they were to 
aim, and when he dropped it they were to fire. 

And then we waited for Black Dog, the chief 
of the clan. It was an impressive scene. " Tex- 
ican" leaned his shaggy chin upon the muzzle of 
his long rifle, and with a gleam of malicious 
triumph, glared fiercely across at his foe. He felt 
sure of his prey, for his aim was death. The young 
Indian seemed to read his thoughts, but stood 
erect with a careless and stoical indifference, and 
gazed dreamily off to the southward where the 
long blue lines of timber were lost in the misty 
beauty of the horizon. There was a tinge of sad- 
ness in his eye. Was he thinking of the happy 
hunting grounds ? The other four of us stood in 
a cluster, rifles in hand, a little to the left of our 



STORMY TIMES ON THE VERDIGREE. 149 



champion, and narrowly watched all that trans- 
pired, for we were vigilantly on our guard against 
treachery. 

Presently Black Dog emerged from a rude lodge 
near by, and clad in long robes of fur, moved 
with stately presence to the front line of his 
people. With a dignified wave of -the hand, he 
signified his pleasure that the tragedy begin. Each 
principal examined the tube of his rifle, and nodded 
to Herndon. He raised the scarf quickly. They 
coolly took aim. He dropped the scarf. Two 
sharp reports rang out almost simultaneously. 
The young warrior sprang wildly into the air, 
flung his weapon fully twenty feet away, and 
dropped dead at his post. The bullet had crashed 
through his brain. " Texican" thudded the butt 
of his rifle on the turf, and gave vent to a hoarse, 
gutteral, choking, satirical, and half demoniac cry 
of triumph and revenge. Then he tried to steady 
himself with his weapon, but staggered blindly 
backward. Herndon and "Ohio" ran up and 
caught him in their arms. His red shirt rapidly 
deepened in hue, and a dreadful alarm seized us. 



150 STORMY TIMES ON THE VERDIGREE. 

Still he laughed madly, and pointed to the motion- 
less corpse of his adversary. We hurriedly gath- 
ered around him, and tenderiy as children laid him 
down upon the soft green grass. Tearing open 
his shirt, we found a terrible wound in his left 
breast, in the region of the heart. None of us 
were surgeons. We could not mention in scientific 
terms just what particular veins and ligaments 
had been severed ; but we knew by the location 
of the wound, and by his parched lips and glazing 
eye, that death was upon him. 

" It's all day with me, boys," he faintly said, 
for he grew wonderfully weaker every moment ; 
" but I 've paid 'em magnificent for it. Give my 
rifle to Colton." 

We bent over the poor fellow with words of 
sympatlry and praise on our lips, and our enemies 
might have shot us all down without resistance. 
But it was of no use. His breath quickly came 
and went. " Water," at length, he groaned. We 
had none, and there was not a brook anywhere in 
the vicinity. An Indian girl comprehended what 
was wanted, and running to a tent, returned in a 



STORMY TIMES ON THE VERDIGREE. 151 



moment with a skin -bag full. We placed the 
cooling fluid to the sufferer's burning lips, and he 
took a long draught. It choked him, and he 
vomited up a handful of bright crimson blood. 
We had seen too many men perish not to know 
by this that the hissing lead had pierced his vitals. 
He was bleeding internally. As soon as he could 
clear his throat to speak, he said feebly and almost 
breathlessly : 

" Don't you try to revenge me, boys. Honor 
bright. They 've done the fair thing with us. 
Promise to act the man with them. Cross the 
river to-day. Do n't forget — the — Texican ! " 

The last words were rendered almost unintel- 
ligible from the blood that began to gather in his 
throat. A film obscured his sight. 

" Where are my friends?" he gasped piteously. 
"Don't leave me to die alone, boys!" and he 
clutched at us nervously. 

« We 're with you to the last, old fellow," ex- 
claimed Colton, with emotion, turning his head 
away to hide the tears, and clasping the hand of 
the dying man. He may have been faint-hearted, 



152 STORMY TIMES ON THE VERDIGREE. 

but we did not think so. Soon " Texican " groaned 
almost inaudibly, gasped in pain, a shudder passed 
over him, and he was dead. 

Even the stony-hearted savages seemed touched 
by the distressing incidents of this sanguinary 
drama. Pew of them could speak even broken 
English, but such as could, advanced towards us, 
and by the aid of signs, endeavoured to inform us 
that their champion had expected to die, and they 
urged that it would be fitting to entomb two such 
brave men together. We received their strangely 
chivalrous proposal in the spirit with which it was 
tendered. With their tomahawks they excavated 
a grave, and wrapping the combatants in the rich 
furs of the chieftain, we laid them down to rest 
side by side — friend and foe alike lamented. Then 
heaping a great pile of stones above them, to baffle 
the efforts of prowling wolves, we fired a volley 
in the air, and with heavy hearts departed. And 
there they slumber still. One died for his friends, 
and the other for the honor of his tribe. The 
wistful summer winds sigh a sad requiem above 
the spot of their long repose ; the wild flowers 



STORMY TIMES ON THE VERD1GREE. 153 



blossom in vernal profusion around it ; and the 
showers of heaven impartially descend upon the 
soft verdure that greenly enshrines it. 



BREVITIES. 

Heroes make magnificent boasts, and then 
fulfill them. 



Most women wish they were men, 



Female modesty is more often a veil to conceal 
blemishes than beauties. 



We find friends in proportion as we are situated 
to serve them. 



There is nothing so grand as a truly great 
man. 



It is when we are happiest that we look for- 
ward to the future with the most eager anticipa- 
tions. 



The way to win promotion is to deserve it, and 
then to demand it. 



A poet should aim at absolute perfection. He 
should write, not that men may tolerate, but that 
they may admire. 



154 



